“My Lord of Storms,” he says, bringing his dagger to his brow and tapping it there in a strange sort of salute. “You are not yourself. Forgive me for what I am about to do.”
I suck in a breath. I was right. This is an assassination. I thought this jerk was pious, but it seems that when he has to choose between the prelate and Aron, he’s picking the prelate.
“I forgive nothing,” Aron says in a cold voice, lifting the axe from his shoulder and swinging it slowly, testing the unbalanced heft of it. “That is another god entirely.”
My owner nods. “Men,” he says, lowering his dagger. “Get her.”
Wait, what? Get me?
I let out a terrified squeak as the men try to rush past Aron and move to me. With a roar of outrage, Aron swings the axe—plaque and all—over his head as if it weighs nothing. It moves in a wide circle and then slams into one of the soldiers, knocking him into his buddy. Just like that, two men are down.
Of course, the other four are still coming for me. Frantic, I race across the room, heading for Aron’s bed. One of the men tries to grab me and ends up snatching the end of my skirt, and then the fabric rips from my body, knocking me off balance. I slam into the bed, face first.
Somewhere above me, there’s a furious roar. Weapons clang and the bed shakes. I roll onto my back, scooting backward even as Aron wades into the men attacking me, swinging the decorative axe like the world’s biggest club. His eyes blaze with unholy light and thunder rages above like it’s his own personal battle soundtrack. One man is flung aside with such force that he slams into the opposite wall, cracking the stone. Another flies over Aron’s head and soars through the air, landing with a crunch. As another reaches for me, sword in hand, the gigantic decorative battleaxe swings over Aron’s head and whirls through the air, then smashes into him, knocking him flat before he can reach me.
It’s both poetic and brutal how quickly and efficiently Aron works his way through the men. I watch one go down and another pick himself up, flinging his weight at Aron with a cry. The god smiles, baring his teeth, and it’s almost like he’s enjoying this little assassination attempt.
Something wrenches my head backward and hot pain shoots through my scalp. I scream, clutching at my hair, and find that someone else’s hand is there. My owner. His face looms over mine and he brings the dagger closer to my throat.
In the space between one breath and the next, something big and shiny launches through the air. He’s knocked backward and my hair feels as if it’s ripping out of my scalp. I nearly black out at the intense pain, moaning. I cringe, waiting for the knife to cut my throat, but there’s nothing.
After a moment, I sit up, clutching at my burning scalp. Aron stands, shoulders heaving, his pale skin gleaming with sweat. His hands are empty and covered in red spatters, and as I get to my feet, I see that the men on the floor are scattered and lying in pools of blood. I turn and see my old owner, the knife flung to the floor near his hand. His other still has a handful of my blonde hair in his fingers. There’s a big sloppy mess where his face used to be, thanks to the gigantic axe that’s even now sliding off of his front.
And Aron just smiles, happy for the first time since I’ve met him.
I feel sick. “Well,” I manage faintly. “This is a bad time to say I told you so, but…I told you so.”
“This makes no sense.”
“No shit.” I rub my head, wanting to cry with the pain of it, but crying won’t do any good. Aron’s not exactly the most sympathetic of audiences.
“This is my temple. These are my people. They worship me. Why would they try to kill me?” Aron’s pale brows furrow and his scar seems that much darker against his skin. “Are they mad?”
“Or they know something we don’t. Also, spoiler, it wasn’t you they came after. It was me.” I jab a thumb into my chest. “So you want to tell me the reason behind that?”
He stares at me for a long moment and I expect one of his snippy comebacks. But then he just shakes his head. “I